


something more beautiful

by kalachuchi



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, POV Alternating, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 14:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalachuchi/pseuds/kalachuchi
Summary: It’s not matchmaking when you love them both, right?





	something more beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from boyish - japanese breakfast: 
> 
>  
> 
> i can’t get you off my mind, i can’t get you off in general  
> so here we are, we’re just two losers  
> i want you and you want something more beautiful

Mingyu tucks himself around Junhui until Junhui tucks the blankets around Mingyu instead. All this does is make Mingyu poke his feet out of the blankets, just to be contrary. 

“Hyung,” Mingyu says.

Junhui hums and pokes Mingyu’s shoulder before he says, “You look a bit cute like this, Mingyu-ya,” which, obviously. Otherwise there’d be no point. Except Junhui is still sitting beside Mingyu instead of with him under the blankets so the point is lost anyway, and now Mingyu’s feet are cold. He doesn’t want to sleep yet.

Not that Mingyu tells Junhui either of these things.

It wouldn’t change anything if he did – Junhui thinks lots of things are cute, like kittens or puppies or the way Minghao insists on waking up earlier than everyone just to eat breakfast, hair a mess but table set neatly, placemat and crockery perfectly in place. Mingyu is good at being cute, too. Flattery is everything, and Mingyu likes being praised. 

“Pat my head, please,” Mingyu settles for instead, nudging his head against Junhui’s hand, resting next to Mingyu’s pillow on the mattress. Junhui laughs, breathy and barely anything at all, but when he cards his fingers through Mingyu’s hair the touch is warm and steady, and Mingyu thinks this is good enough. 

Junhui is still smiling when he says, “Jihoonie will be grumpy if we leave our things on his side of the room.”

Doubtful. Jihoon is easily one of the more disorganised members, and Mingyu rooming with him has only made this less obvious. What this means is the shirt slung careless and haphazard over the frame of Jihoon’s bunk are both less and more noticeable for the mess. Less, returning Jihoon’s side of the room to its habitual state of being. More, because the shirt is too large to be Jihoon’s, and the fit too baggy to be one of Mingyu’s own. 

“Jihoonie-hyung is at the studio tonight,” Mingyu answers, avoiding the statement.

“Oh,” Junhui says. His hand stills on top of Mingyu’s head. “So we’re being sneaky.”

“Why would you say it like that,” Mingyu huffs, whining until Junhui’s hand resumes playing with Mingyu’s hair.

“I’m not wrong, though.”

It’s not a question and it doesn’t sound like one, either. Mingyu’s glad for it. 

He closes his eyes and breathes, listening to the sounds of the room, the quiet of the apartment. Everyone else is out, but Mingyu can faintly catch the strains of Seungkwan singing along to a music show from the floor below. Music Core must have already started. Junhui is singing too, a song Mingyu doesn’t immediately recognise but feels familiar filtered through the lilting notes of Junhui’s voice. 

Mingyu opens his eyes. 

Immediately, Junhui ruffles Mingyu’s hair before covering his eyes. Junhui says, still following the same melody, “Don’t look at me, don’t, don’t look at me…” and Mingyu snorts, lifts Junhui’s hand, and looks.

Legs dangling over the edge of Mingyu’s bunk, Junhui is sitting as if he belongs there. He hasn’t gotten up to grab his shirt yet, and Mingyu hasn’t worked up enough nerve to tell Junhui to just use one of his. Mingyu wants to, though. Mingyu wants a lot of things.

Junhui kicks his feet up and down, making a startled, quickly stifled noise when his feet almost knock against Jihoon’s bunk, surprise sinking into laughter as Mingyu tucks his legs back into the blankets at last, watching Junhui until Junhui turns back to look at Mingyu, too.

Mingyu doesn’t want to be alone tonight.

Quieter now, Junhui says, “This is nice.”

Junhui’s hand finds its way back to Mingyu’s hair, fiddling with the soft ends at the nape of Mingyu’s neck. Mingyu allows it until he realises Junhui is about to leave. “Don’t,” Mingyu says, at the same time Junhui says, “It’s getting late.”

“Mingyu?” 

“The other dorm is too far,” Mingyu says, “I won’t walk you back if you go.”

Junhui rolls his eyes. “Thanks for letting me know.” He doesn’t move immediately, though, and Mingyu doesn’t press him. Mingyu won’t press Junhui to stay, but Junhui never waits for Mingyu to ask him to leave. They’re both a little selfish like that. Rolling onto his back, Mingyu lets out a breath. Junhui’s hand shifts from its position at Mingyu’s nape to the slight arch of Mingyu’s collarbones, the rise of his chest. Mingyu doesn’t want to always be the person moving things into place.

Mingyu thinks, _You shouldn’t have to say everything to make someone know,_ and feels himself smile at the irony of the sentiment, the phantom of Junhui’s voice lingering from a memory Mingyu can’t fully recall anymore: _The important thing is the telling, not really what it is you tell._

“Rest well, Mingyu-ya,” Junhui says, beginning to move.

The hand lifts from Mingyu’s chest.

This time, Mingyu catches Junhui’s wrist before he can leave. 

Junhui stops. Mingyu lets go before Junhui fully turns to face him, and Mingyu tilts his head to side, staring pointedly at his pillow. Junhui pinches Mingyu’s hip over the blankets, not enough to hurt, just to be noticed. Mingyu flinches anyway, keeping his eyes closed to hide the sting. Then Mingyu feels a tug, and a rush of cold air reaches Mingyu’s feet as Junhui lifts a corner of the blanket.

“Set an alarm for before Jihoon gets back,” Junhui whispers, facing away from Mingyu.

Mingyu swallows.

Eventually he says, “You make a good accomplice, hyung.”

“Maybe.” A pause. Then, amused: “I don’t kiss and tell, anyway.”

When Mingyu slings an arm around Junhui’s waist and moves him closer, Junhui doesn’t stop him, resting a hand on top of the blankets above Mingyu’s, palm pressed against Junhui’s stomach.

“Is this comfortable,” Mingyu asks, just in case.

“You’re very warm.”

Junhui leans back, close enough Mingyu almost feels Junhui’s shoulder against his mouth when he speaks. 

“…That’s good, then.” 

Right. Junhui’s shirt is still on Jihoon’s bunk.

“Mingyu-ya.” Junhui sounds almost fond. “I’m not angry.”

Mingyu whispers, “I just think people don’t always have to be alone.”

“That’s fair,” Junhui whispers back.

Mingyu doesn’t set an alarm in the end, but he doesn’t sleep either, holding still where he lays until it’s time for Junhui to head back to the other dorm again.

 

* * *

 

Joshua said this to Junhui, once: “You don’t have to be anyone’s anything if you don’t want to, Jun-ah. You should just do the things you want to do.”

 

* * *

 

“Your shirt’s on the wrong way,” Minghao informs Junhui, moments after Junhui walks through the door.

“Minghao,” Junhui says, blinking. Then: “Couldn’t you have told me before I left?”

Looking up from where he’s crouched by the fridge, Minghao grabs a bottle of oolong tea before walking over to Junhui, who ducks before Minghao can press the bottle against Junhui’s neck. Minghao tuts, but looks more amused than anything else.

“I would have. If it was on the wrong way before you left.”

Somewhat guilty, Junhui admits, “I didn’t think you’d wait up until I got back.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” Minghao continues, unfazed. “I just thought you wouldn’t like anyone else pointing it out.” He’s not looking at Junhui when he says it, fidgeting with the hem of what Junhui recognises as one of his own hoodies and, for a short, sharp moment Junhui feels close to telling Minghao – “What would I do without you,” Junhui says instead, which is close enough to what he means that it doesn’t feel like a lie.

“See, I know you,” Minghao says, in between sips of tea. “Also, I’m almost always right.”

Junhui laughs. “Saving certainty for a rainy day, Xiao Hao?”

Without discussing it, they’re both walking back to Minghao’s room. While Minghao fiddles with the mood lights at the foot of his bed, Junhui takes his shirt off before putting it back on, the right way this time.

Resuming their conversation, Minghao says, “Nobody knows everything, though. That’s why we have to keep learning every day.”

Minghao talks like this a lot. He reminds Junhui a bit of a whimsical but sensible uncle, if not for the mood lights reflecting against Minghao’s extensive sunglasses collection, or the way Minghao’s probably using Junhui’s hoodie to hide splattered paint all over his shirt from painting in the dark, while the others were asleep. Ruining a dry clean only shirt because of something entirely avoidable is the kind of thing Minghao gets embarrassed about admitting to other people, as if Junhui isn’t more than willing to go on a dry cleaner’s visit for him under the guise of a snack run.

Well. Junhui probably _would_ buy snacks on the way and back, but that’s beside the point.

Lighting sorted, Minghao sits at the edge of his bed, and Junhui shuffles over to sit on the rug in front of him, grabbing Minghao’s phone from the bedside table to sift through Minghao’s playlists. The opening chords of a piano play on the speakers. 

Behind him, Junhui hears plastic crinkle, and he feels Minghao move the oolong bottle close to him before closing his eyes, bracing against the chill of condensation, but it never arrives.

Instead, the bottle rests in front of him, and Minghao is smiling when Junhui tilts his head back to narrow his eyes at him.

“You tricked me,” Junhui says pointlessly, even as he grabs the bottle and sips anyway.

Minghao shrugs, still smiling. “You let me.”

Junhui smacks at Minghao’s knee, and they both snicker, Junhui leaning his head against one of Minghao’s thighs. If this were two years ago, Junhui has no doubt Minghao would’ve bumped him away immediately, but. If this were two years ago, Junhui wonders whether they’d even be having a conversation like this at all.

Percussion drifts in alongside the piano as the chorus blasts through the speakers, muffled from the blanket Minghao throws over them to stifle the noise without resorting to earphones. This is one of Junhui’s favourite ballads, and he squeezes one of Minghao’s ankles when Minghao hums along, stumbling over every line that isn’t the hook Junhui often hums on the way to schedules.

Junhui is terrible at keeping things from Minghao, and at this point Junhui no longer feels the slightest inclination to try.

“… Hey, Minghao.” A finger taps Junhui’s cheek, so Junhui continues.

“If I were to tell you, if I told you…What would you say if I had someone –.” Junhui can’t think of a simple way to finish the sentence, so he says it again. “If I had someone.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

Junhui lifts his head from Minghao’s thigh, leaning back to peer at Minghao again. Minghao blinks at him, looking at Junhui the way he always looks at Junhui, these days. Biting his lip, Junhui lifts his hand from Minghao’s ankle, palm facing up, not knowing exactly what he’s hoping for. Minghao curls his fingers around Junhui’s, settling both their hands on one of Minghao’s knees. 

“Junnie,” Minghao says, “What do you want me to say.”

_I want whatever you want to say,_ Junhui means to say, except what he actually says is, “I want whatever you say to feel okay.”

The hand holding Junhui’s tightens. 

Slowly, Minghao says, “Your someone. They make you happy, right?”

Junhui feels more rested than he has all week. He supposes that’s a kind of happiness, too, maybe.

“I think they’re a good person.”

Minghao hums. Junhui adds, “I’m not – I’m not trying to force an opinion out of you or anything, I just. I don’t know. I wanted… I don’t know. I just wanted you to know.”

“It’s nice when people you want to tell things to want to hear about them,” Minghao agrees, and Junhui nods.

Minghao shuffles closer to the end of the bed, close enough Junhui is leaning against him as much as he is leaning against the bed. Junhui doesn’t recognise the song they’re listening to anymore.

“I like that you want to tell me things,” Minghao says eventually. “I like knowing about what you like. Or who. Doesn’t matter if I don’t know who they are.”

“If you did,” Junhui begins. He doesn’t finish.

Minghao finishes the thought with a new one. “If I did, I think I’d still like hearing about him.”

Junhui squeezes Minghao’s hand. Words feel heavy in his mouth, and he finds himself slipping back into Mandarin, equally heavy but easier, somehow. Honest.

“You wouldn’t mind,” Junhui says.

It isn’t a question, so Minghao doesn’t answer it.

Minghao says, “We love the same people, you know?”

Junhui knows. There’s an absence in their conversation, one Junhui’s aware of but doesn’t address, his words tiptoeing alongside Minghao’s rather than around them. In the house of Junhui and Minghao’s history, the floor that still creaks from the familiar weight of former disagreements.

_I know you don’t like being around other people all the time,_ Minghao said once, _I’m not trying to force anything, so I can leave if you want._ But he’d stay, too, even if he didn’t say it. Always talking around things instead of about things. What Minghao does has always mattered more than what he says. Junhui likes this about him. Trying to avoid fights is somehow more important than never running into conflict without trying. Junhui’s temper fades faster than it flares up, and more often than not it’s Minghao present for the buildup and breakdown. Minghao prefers hearing things himself over finding out from anyone else, anyway. Distance is compromise, except for when it isn’t.

“I’m not used to being around other people,” Junhui says, except that’s not entirely correct, so he rephrases. “I’m not used to being with other people like this.”

“We can try.” Junhui swallows down a smile at the plural. 

Junhui says, “I want to.”

“Alright, then.” Minghao exhales, laughing a little. “God. We keep doing things the hard way.”

Grinning, Junhui says, “I don’t mind. I like having to try.”

 

* * *

 

This is what Wonwoo tells Junhui: “You’d be an awful cupid, anyway.” Junhui was ready to pout and prod Wonwoo into admitting otherwise until Wonwoo continued, smiling. “Besides, I think Junnie’s the type of person who wouldn’t try so hard for anyone unless he liked them just as much, in the first place.”

 

* * *

 

Minghao successfully wheedles Junhui into an outing by virtue of not requesting Junhui’s presence as a gym partner. This is how the two of them wind up in the backseat of Mingyu’s car after a shopping trip, ignoring Mingyu’s whines about sitting alone at the front. Or at least, Minghao is. 

“I look like a loser,” Mingyu says, casting a betrayed look through the rear-view mirror when neither of them correct him. A collection of shopping bags occupies the passenger seat instead, none of them Minghao’s or Junhui’s.

“Focus on the road,” Minghao says smugly. “I’m trying to dress up Junnie.”

“Jun-hyung’s older than both of us. He can dress himself.”

“He really can’t,” Minghao snorts. He smacks away Junhui’s hand from reaching for the sweater he wore on the way to their shopping trip, and hands him a ribbon-sealed shopping bag instead. “I didn’t buy this,” Junhui whispers. “I know,” Minghao whispers back. Junhui accepts the bag.

“Oh,” Junhui says, pleased. “This is really soft.”

Mingyu says, “I just think it’s really unfair of you to make me drive while you get to have fun.”

_You_ very obviously referring to Minghao, who kicks at Mingyu’s seat in retaliation. Mingyu slides his seat back at the next red light, crowding Minghao’s already limited leg room.

“You’re not that tall,” Minghao says, but Mingyu interrupts him: “Ah, hyung’s trying on the blazer.”

“It’s comfier than it looks,” Junhui hums, fingers trailing up and down a sleeve.

“It’s pretty,” Minghao agrees. The light shifts to green. Mingyu resumes driving without adjusting his seat, and Minghao resolves to claim the pair of slacks Mingyu bought – “It’s the last one they have in store, Myungho. I’m getting it” – as his own later.

Sounding satisfied, Mingyu says, “It looks good on you, Jun-hyung.”

“See,” Minghao adds, just because. Junhui shakes his head. “I could’ve bought this myself, if you pointed it out.”

“Questionable, but alright.”

Mingyu says, “It’s fine, isn’t it? I had my card on me already.”

Minghao translates: “Mingyu wants to be spoiled on his birthday.”

“Ah.” Junhui blinks. “I understand. I’ll try to wait until then.”

From the driver’s seat, Mingyu’s mouth opens. Closes. He looks a little bit stunned. Minghao laughs. Junhui’s smiling. “Sorry,” he says, “should I not have explained beforehand?”

Mingyu’s shaking his head, but Minghao can see him grinning. Mingyu has always thrived under attention.

Against the window Junhui’s reflection is faintly visible, layered against the street corner where he took photos of Mingyu at once, very early in the morning. Junhui’s talking, and Minghao catches the tail end of a story Junhui found on Weibo the other day, details adjusted slightly for clarity in Korean. He’s still wearing the blazer. Minghao tips his weight sideways, humming as Junhui slings an arm around him.

“I’m enjoying this,” Minghao says, to no one in particular. Beyond the window the streets are familiar, minutes away from the dorms. Junhui begins giggling just before he reaches the punchline to the story. The atmosphere in the car is light, and the mood’s good even without the radio being on.

“Of course you are,” Mingyu says. 

 

 


End file.
